


billets-doux

by SOMNlARl



Series: Tumblr Prompts [14]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Love Letters, M/M, No seriously this is diabetes of the soul inducing fluff, Sorry Not Sorry, sweet little nothings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen squinted against the faint guttering of the candles as he raised the next report up to his face. He sighed and it turned into a yawn that tore through him, forcing a frown. </p><p>The hand was crisp, clean, imperious; the parchment heavy and rich, stamped with an intricate wax motif. A noble’s hand and definitely a noble’s seal. He groaned. Another ridiculous request, likely for influence or someone’s hand to agree on an alliance. Clearly one for Josephine, delivered by mistake. He skimmed it despite himself. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Amatus, </i></p><p> </p><p>Definitely NOT one for Josephine then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	billets-doux

**Author's Note:**

> prompted by thekingofcarrotflower on tumblr: Dorian leaving notes for Cullen around Skyhold for him to find when he's off with the Inquisitor?
> 
> prompt me or yell at me about cullrian on [tumblr](http://xhermionedanger.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  _billets-doux_ : love letters

Cullen squinted against the faint guttering of the candles as he raised the next report up to his face. He sighed and it turned into a yawn that tore through him, forcing a frown. 

The hand was crisp, clean, imperious; the parchment heavy and rich, stamped with an intricate wax motif. A noble’s hand and definitely a noble’s seal. He groaned. Another ridiculous request, likely for influence or someone’s hand to agree on an alliance. Clearly one for Josephine, delivered by mistake. He skimmed it despite himself. 

 _Amatus,_  

Definitely NOT one for Josephine then. 

_If you are reading this and it is the middle of the night (and do not argue semantics with me - if it is after the dinner bell and your candles are nearly at an end then it is the middle of the night whether you feel you have finished your days’ work or not - make this the last letter you read._

_Go directly upstairs and to bed, I do not wish to return to find you exhausted and worn out._

_Take care of yourself, Amatus, for both of our sakes. And I will attempt the same in return, Red Templars be damned._

_All my love,_

_Dorian_  

Cullen smiled, fighting back another yawn.  Even with the mage weeks away in the Emprise the clipped, demanding tones rang clear. He blew out the remains of the candles. 

In bed he curled tighter under the blankets, shivering as a frigid breeze blew through his loft. It felt colder, somehow, without Dorian present. He sighed and tried to get comfortable but his pillow was lumpy, lofted too high up off the mattress, almost as if… he reached under it and pulled out one of Dorian’s woven silk cloaks, a scrap of parchment pinned to it. 

_Can’t sleep, Carissimus?_

_Try this._

Cullen blinked as he fought to make the words out in the darkness of his loft lit only by moonlight.  _How did Dorian know?_  

No matter, he thought as he draped the soft fabric across his chest. It smelled of the mage. Of deep, heady spices; saffron, cinnamon and nutmeg. Of the faintest hint of Dorian’s favorite rosewater candies twisted with good leather and musk, the astringent herbal oils he teased through his hair every morning. 

As he breathed in the scent that was so wonderfully, uniquely  _Dorian_  he couldn’t help but drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

## ***

He slept wrapped in Dorian’s cloak every night for the next week and each morning he woke long after the sun had risen, more rested than he’d felt since sailing from Kirkwall. 

Still, the days were full of responsibilities and his laziness in the mornings meant longer hours in the War Room with every possible moment to breathe spent speaking with runners, answering letters, running drills and preparing reports for the next day’s meetings. It left little time for anything else. 

On the eighth morning he descended the ladder to find a tray waiting on his desk. He rolled his eyes, his assistant Fern always was a bit of a mother hen, and moved it aside only to find another note on top of the waiting stack of missives. 

 _Dulcissimus_ , 

_You are to sit down and eat everything on this tray. And do not even think about working while you do. Relax. I’ve left a book on your shelves if you absolutely must have something to occupy your mind, it’s a marvelous tome of translated early Tevinter verse. I think you’ll find it most illuminating._

_And Cullen, if you send anything back to the kitchens I will know about it. I may not be our dear spymistress but when it comes to you? I have eyes everywhere._

## ***

He found the next note while flipping idly through one of the many books Dorian had left stacked on the only free corner of his desk, a copy of  _Kirkwall: the City of Chains_  when it comes fluttering out from between the pages. He stooped to pick it up, groaning as his knees popped and protested. 

 _Genitivi, my dear Amatus? You truly must be lost without me. Not to fret, I should be back soon. By my calculations we should be about two weeks away from Skyhold as long as Evelyn hasn’t decided to search out every shard and Red Templar camp in the Emprise first_. 

_Do try to take care of yourself, my love._

_p.s. If you’re bored and lacking company I would recommend Krem as a chess companion, the Bull taught him reasonably well. For goodness sake do NOT ask Solas. I fear his dreadful fashion sense might be catching and you already have that awful, flea-ridden cloak. If you force me to suffer the apostate’s penchant for plaideweave and poorly-fitting layers as well I might have to leave you, Amatus._

## ***

Another was tucked into a small gap in the battlements, wedged between two stones, their edges slightly worn away by time. If one could have a favorite crenelation Cullen supposed this was his, the weathered stones seemed softer somehow, easier to lean up against; cooler and more comforting against his throbbing head. He would’t have found it at all - the sun had gone down hours ago - had the scrap of parchment not been tucked into just the space where his hand always came to rest. 

_If you’re reading this then you’re pacing again, that’s the only reason you’re ever up this way. Amatus, stop. Go take an elfroot potion, or at the very least order a cup of tea and relax. Not in your chair, please. You’ll be too tempted to work there. To bed, there’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow._

_We’ll be back soon, Maker-willing. Needless to say it is bitterly cold here and I miss you dreadfully. Why dear Evelyn imagines endless snowdrifts and ice and thinks ‘let’s bring Dorian!’ is beyond me but really, who am I to question the whims of our illustrious Inquisitor._

_All my love,_

_D._

## ***

The next, just five words scrawled lightly and the paper folded small, tucked under the wine bottle Dorian had left on his bookshelf.  _I_   _do so_   _adore you._

## ***

A long rant about the indignities of traveling with savages who refuse to wear proper armor, the dreadful food prepared by the scouts and elves who wouldn’t stop hiding his extra clothing up trees was tucked into the pocket of his surcoat. 

Cullen couldn’t help but laugh, as he read it, Dorian’s voice came through so clearly, it was as though the mage were sitting right next to him, perched on the edge of the desk as he was so fond of doing. 

 _Maker_  but he missed him. 

## ***

It was mid-day when the horn sounded, announcing the arrival of Trevelyan and her companions at the fortress’s gates. 

Cullen smiled as he scribbled a quick note, dotting the sheet of vellum with stray ink in his haste, before handing it off to Fern. She nodded and ducked out the side door. 

_Come to my quarters when you’re free._

He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Dorian would come soon enough.


End file.
